


Whoreson's Flower

by ArthurtheGatekeeper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst with a Happy Ending, But He Gets Better, Geralt and Dandelion go on adventures post game and retire to the vineyard to grow flowers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Non-Graphic Violence, Suicidal Thoughts, it is Dandelion after all, mostly follows game canon, so Dandelion Thinks Geralt is dead for most of the fic, sugar daddy Alonso, suicidal behavior, which honestly feels like a valid interpretation of the no romance ending to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:41:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26515378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurtheGatekeeper/pseuds/ArthurtheGatekeeper
Summary: It's been two years since the pogrom that killed Geralt and Yennefer. Dandelion's been surviving.A new patron finds him. One Alonso Wiley. Whoreson Senior. Head of the Novigrad underworld.He's lucky the man's a romantic and a lover of the arts. It would probably be easier if he didn't look so much like Geralt though.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Alonso Wiley | Whoreson Senior
Comments: 41
Kudos: 166





	Whoreson's Flower

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based off Dandelion's explanation for why He received the Rosemary and Thyme (patronage system? Waaat? Nah) and also just how similar Alonso looks to Geralt in his wiki portrait. Give it a look if you have time. Also how absolutely messed up Dandelion appears to be in the first two games right after Geralt just returned from the dead when compared to the Dandelion in the first two books. So have this angst!!! If you'd like.

He would admit that he did not know who he was playing for that first time.

The man had tossed a bag of coin to him that was more than he’d normally make in a week. The sound it made was heavy and he’d looked up in shock.

So the money was good.

The man was better.

His hair was pulled back into a short pony tail. Some of the white strands escaped and twisted over his face.

Grey. Grey not white.

He had a strong jaw. Powerful and confident posture. Like he knew he could fight the entire bar and win. Tattoos lined his face. His jaw. His hands and, later he would learn, the rest of him as well.

But that first night. That first night when the pouch landed in his case and he looked up in shock all he could think was Geralt.

It had been two years since Ciri had lead his body out onto the lake. Two years since his best friend had died.

If only-

If only-

He swallowed. “Any requests?”

He’d smiled. Just a little twitch of the lips. His chest ached at that movement.

“Play as time passes Dandelion.”

The voice wasn’t the same. The cadence wrong. His name didn’t fit quite right in the man’s mouth.

He knew it wasn’t Geralt. By his brown eyes. His face was longer. He was missing scars.

He played just for him. Ignoring the ladies he been flirting with before.

He knew it wasn’t Geralt but that first night he let his aching heart pretend.

Alonso became a regular for his performances. Had gone out of his way to arrange for him to play at nice bars all over Novigrad.

“How are you affording all this?” Zoltan asked him as he bought them another round. “Gotten back into spying?”

“Fuck you.” He snapped. The look on Zoltan’s face pulled him back. He was supposed to be a happy drunk. Since he couldn’t be happy sober.

“What lass broke your heart?”

He downed the drink. “I found a new patron. Or would you prefer I go back to begging for drinks off you?”

Zoltan refilled his drink. “Not complaining. Glad you’re finding your feet again.” He liked that Zoltan didn’t complain about how much he drank. He was a good friend in that.

“Yeah.”

He sat in Alonso’s study. Reading from his book of poetry. The man occasionally paused his work to focus on him. To listen. Sometimes he’d ask him for certain pieces or music.

It wasn’t like his adventures with Geralt. There were no arguments over how Geralt turned down perfectly good jobs for his _code_ but then he wasn’t allowed to turn down jobs that were an insult to his skills and how in the end they’d both made sacrifices for the sake of a meal. They’d been equals in that.

There was none of that. Because Alonso had plenty of money. Plenty of coin to sink into his enjoyment of the arts. He had no shame in accepting that. The arts were a worthwhile passion. He’d dedicated his life to it after all.

Alonso was a romantic he’d found. He’d tell him all the tales he’d collected over the years. They weren’t accurate. But that didn’t matter. He found out what kind of endings he liked best and would tell them for that kind of ending.

At the end of each tale he waited a moment for him to say “That’s not how it went.”

He didn’t. He didn’t know. Probably didn’t think the stories were true anyway.

One night he leaned back in his chair. A demijohn of vodka in his hand. Eyes closed. Just listening.

He told him a very different kind of tale that night. He told him of a love story. A love story between a Witcher and a Witch.

His throat closed as he finished the tale. His hands shook on the lute he’d given up playing.

“Why did you tell it that way?”

“Well. It’s one of my most popular tales.”

“No.” He opened his eyes. Brown. Not gold. “Why did you make the romance the Witch and the Witcher? You know I don’t mind unrequited love. It was already a tragedy.”

He didn’t move from his perch on the couch. Throat working as he stared at him.

“There was once a bard who loved a Witcher so much that after a week’s time he was ready to die by his side.”

“Does this bard have a name?”

“Essi Daven.” He lied.

“And did they? Die together?”

“No.” He grit his jaw. “Because she never had the Witcher’s heart. It belonged to another.”

He smiled. It was a grizzly smile. That was an expression he’d seen on Geralt. Geralt had known how to smile so unpleasantly.

“Go on. I think I’ll like this one better.”

He woke up with a hangover to end all hangovers. Too dehydrated to even cry.

It should have been me. Why wasn’t it me? He asked. Screamed. Whimpered.

No one responded. No one ever did.

The first time Alonso kissed him he’d frozen.

“You know I heard a rumor about a bard.” He’d started. “That likes to play at The Underground.”

His fingers didn’t stop. He cocked his head like this was some curious gossip and not a terrible secret.

The Underground was a bar for people who did not love right. Men who loved men. Women who loved women. The people who were neither. All those who didn’t fit.

“I heard that this bard once got blackmailed with that information.”

He smiled curiously as he sat on the couch next to him. Took his face between two of his fingers.

“I could make sure he never can hurt you with that again.”

“I do not play at The Underground I’m afraid.” He smiled easily. It was not easy. But it was practiced enough to appear so. “You’ve me confused for another.”

Alonso kissed him then. Ran his bottom lip between his teeth as he pulled away.

His eyes were brown. But he didn’t pull back.

“Say the word and Dijkstra will never bother you again.” He kissed him again.

With his eyes closed he could almost believe it was Geralt kissing him.

He closed his eyes and kissed back.

“Dandelion!” Zoltan had pulled him away from the crowd. “ _That’s_ your patron? Whoreson fucking senior? Head of the Novigrad underworld?”

He ripped his arm away from his grasp. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not a _child_.”

They all treated him that way. Like he was a bumbling idiot that couldn’t tie his own shoes. Deal with his own fucking problems.

“You and your patrons.” He spat. Which was reasonable. “Dandelion we can’t afford to make an enemy out of him.”

“Oh and turning him down wouldn’t have?”

Zoltan’s shoulders fell. He chewed on a thought. Glanced back at the man. “He looks almost like Geralt.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighed heavily. “That’s what I thought.”

He didn’t like what he was implying. “I know he’s dead. We were all there. Maybe I’m just tired of going to bed hungry.”

“I’m not a one man army Dandelion. If this goes wrong-“

“You have my permission to leave me to die.” He smiled at him but it didn’t feel kind or easy. It felt as twisted up as his guts.

“Dandelion.”

“Sorry.” The smile that was not a smile broke. He curled inward and stepped back. “It’ll be fine. I need to get back to work.”

He hated the way Zoltan’s eyes stayed on him. He sent a few drinks over in the hopes he’d forget.

The door slammed open as three men forced their way into Alonso’s room.

“Found him boss.” One said about the injured man carried between them.

Alonso frowned harshly. “I have a guest.”

They looked at him in surprise. He was shaking against the table he’d perched on.

The injured man dripped blood onto the carpet.

“Aren’t you going to help him?” He asked.

The two men holding him laughed. They laughed and laughed and laughed.

Alonso crossed the room to him. Pulled on his hair. “You’re lucky you know.” His voice was low. Probably too quiet for most to hear. He’d always had good ears though. “If I didn’t have a guest I’d have made this hurt.”

His neck snapped. He heard that sound enough to know it.

However much he’d drank that night wasn’t enough to let him forget it.

Alonso had a lot of tattoos. A fair amount of scars. Not as many as Geralt had but that was the way of things.

Alonso smiled at him lazily through the afterglow as he cleaned the up. He wrung out the cloth before climbing back into bed. His hair had long gone grey and he longed to reach out and pet it. To twist his hair between his fingers like he used to occasionally do with Geralt when they’d shared a bed.

Alonso overheated quickly and preferred not to touch after. He laid back in the bed and waited to fall asleep in the comfortable bedding.

Alonso rolled onto his side and stared at him. “What?” He asked.

“What’s your dream?”

“What?” He laughed, the noise rippling out of him. “What are you talking about?”

“Anything in the world Dandelion. If you could have anything what would it be?”

_Geralt. Alive._ He thought. Just alive. He wouldn’t ask for more.

“I’ve always wanted to own a cabaret.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Full of dancing and singing and drinking. A true den of the arts.”

He smiled when he thought of it. Even though he wasn’t good with money and wasn’t responsible and would surely drink away his profits. He smiled. For the first time in years it was almost easy.

“I’d employ all my friends. I’ve a friend who can choreograph the finest dance numbers. A Halfling who makes beautiful placards. And the Elves know exactly how to round up a crowd.” He didn’t mention them by name. Didn’t need to give Alonso any more of his people if he decided to hurt him. “I’d make sure they all had work. Got paid fairly. They’d know they were always safe welcome when they came to my place.”

He glanced at Alonso who seemed perfectly content. He rambled on.

“Zoltan would help me run it of course. It’d be great. He knows how to deal with drunkards. I’ve given him plenty of practice. And we’d have rooms upstairs just in case-“

He stopped. He’d pictured a room with a weapon rack. For two swords and a crossbow. A room that would never be used.

“Just in case?”

He licked his lips. “Friends came by. Needed a place to stay.”

“Anyone in particular you were hoping would stop by?”

Just a dead man. “All my friends. They’re all welcome.”

“But you’re hoping for the Witcher.”

“Geralt is dead. Why do you keep bringing him up?”

He smiled cruelly. “Because I think it’s a beautiful love story. You want to give him a home. So maybe he’d stay with you.”

“He hates the city. He’d never stay.”

“What’s the most important thing in the world?”

A shift in topic. He was grateful. Answered without hesitation. “Friendship.” A moment. “And love. Friendship and love. Oh. Well and wine. Speaking of which-“

He reached for the bottle on the side table. Alonso shifted over him. Halting him. Caging him in his powerful arms. Age had not made them weak.

“Do you think if you build them a home they’ll finally stay? Make you a waypoint on their journey? Do you think that’s what will make them finally love you?”

Alonso smiled cruelly at him. He smile back up at him. Grabbed his shoulders and flipped him onto the bed under him.

“Let me tell you a secret Alonso.” He leaned forward against his chest. “I don’t love anyone. Not you. Not the five women I’m currently seeing at this very moment. Three of whom I’m engaged too. And let’s not even try and count the others who I’m promised too. I am using you. Just like I am using them.”

“Bold claim.”

“If I loved them would I cheat on them?” He grabbed a swig from the bottle. Inspected the label. “I’m obviously using you for your money. And I could tell you exactly what plot I’m working on that involves the abilities or connections of each of those ladies. I won’t because that would be bad business. But I could.”

“The dwarf too?”

He scoffed. “All of my friends are there for a reason. Zoltan keeps people from killing me. Shani has connections. Geralt was a fucking Witcher. I thought you of all people would understand that.”

Alonso studied him. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.” He sat back on his heels and downed another glug. “But if you want to believe the lie of the incompetent bard you can. Everyone else does.”

“You are. You’re trying to protect them from me right now.” He took the wine. Swirled it in the bottle. “But I heard your story. Wanted to die alongside the Witcher cause you loved him that much. Trying to convince me you don’t care about any of them so I’d only hurt you. But I’m not like your friends. I see you.”

“No. You don’t.” He swung off him. Collecting his clothing.

“You drink like a man trying to die Dandelion.” He found his pants under the bed. “You’ve gone down to the pontar three times this week alone. Too drunk to swim. Hoping you’re brave enough to fall in.” He shoved on his pants. Not bothering to look for his underclothes. “But that’s the real truth in your story. It’s that you’re a coward Dandelion. And you always have been.”

He shoved on his undershirt and glanced around for his doublet. “Not brave enough to live or die. That why you stayed with me even after you found out who I was. What I am. Because you’re hoping I’ll do it for you. And you wanted to convince me to just kill you.”

“I’m only here because you look like Geralt.” He told him. Anger dripping from every word.

He looked surprised by that. It faded into amusement.

“I’m not going to kill your friends. I’m also not going to kill you, as much as you’d appreciate that. No.” He leaned back against the headboard. Smirked. “I’m going to give you a carrot.”

“What?”

“Here’s the deal.” He waved the wine bottle at him. “Outlive me and I’ll give you your dream.”

He cocked his head. Not following.

“I’ll give you one of my brothels. Oh let’s say- the Rosemary and Thyme. Yours upon my death to do with as you will.”

“Why?”

“Cause you’re my favorite poet Dandelion. And you’re damn good in bed.” He waved to the space next to him. “Entertain a monster and you’ll have your dream. You’ve plenty of experience in that.”

“Geralt wasn’t a monster. He was one of the best men I’ve ever met.”

“Maybe I was talking about you.”

That he could understand. The doublet dropped to the ground. He climbed into bed next to him.

There was the snap of a neck in his ears.

“Do you take pleasure in killing?”

He grinned. “Yes.”

He closed his eyes and curled into the bed. A monster already lived inside him. What did it matter if he slept next to one?

“Been in fucking Novigrad too long. Let’s go somewhere Dandelion.”

He wondered if Zoltan asked because he came home dripping wet and smelling like the pontar last night.

“Yeah. That sounds. Nice.”

“Geralt’s alive Dandelion!”

“Shani don’t do this to me.”

“I’m not lying! He’s alive- he’s lost his memory but he’s alive Dandelion. You know I wouldn’t lie about this!”

“Alive huh?”

“That’s how the tale goes.”

“Does the second half of the story go better for _Essi Daven_?”

“No. Don’t be silly. The bard’s still a coward. Obviously.”

“Did you mean it? When you promised me the brothel?”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Thought it might keep you kicking a few more years.”

“You’re lying to me Alonso.”

He bared his teeth in mockery of a smile. Placed a palm on his chest. “Maybe your story about the bard who wants a home so badly he’d die for it touched me.”

“That wasn’t the story.”

“I might be mixing them. Home is where the heart is. The bard who lost his.”

“Her. Essi was a woman.”

“We both know I’m not talking about Essi.”

“Gotta tell me- how’d you wind up owning this… establishment?” Geralt asked as he looked around the room he’d had made up for him while he was in town.

He laughed, leaning against the doorframe. “You’ll never believe this. I inherited it- from none other than Alonso Willy, Whoreson Senior himself.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe it.”

“Alonso ruled the local underworld with an iron fist. But deep down he was a romantic. Pure as they come.”

Geralt set his swords and crossbow on the weapon rack with hardly a thought. He opened the chest in the side of the room and peered inside.

“I’ll give you the key if you want to store anything here since.” Since he couldn’t leave things at Kaer Morhen anymore. Geralt made a grateful noise. “Anyway this place is one of the reasons his son’s not my biggest fan. See, Cyprian – Junior, that is – wanted to make this a brothel, but the Rosemary went to me.”

Geralt dropped some books into the chest. A set of somewhat respectable looking clothing. A saddlebag worth of random crap. He didn’t comment although he was tempted.

“Was that a spool of wire and a candelabra?” The temptation was too strong. “I know you’re a bit of a magpie but that seems a big much.”

“It’s useful and I can sell it.”

“Sure Geralt. Sure.”

Music drifted up the steps and he smiled. It felt so much easier than it had in years. Priscilla’s voice, an alto now, drifted up to them.

“Thank you for helping me get it running.”

Geralt frowned slightly at her voice. “Sorry I couldn’t protect her.”

“Geralt if you hadn’t been there, Priscilla would have died a cruel death and I’d be drowning my sorrows in some dive with piss-stained walls.”

It’s where he always ended up when he lost a friend. Trying to drown himself in a bottle. Too afraid to do the job proper.

“That what happened after the lake.” He didn’t clarify which lake. He didn’t need to. After the lake and the unicorn and the pitchfork to the stomach. “Zoltan said it got pretty dark.”

“Yes well.” He crossed the room and flopped into the bed. “Lucky for everyone I’m a coward.”

The chest closed. The bed creaked next to him. “Glad you are. Hate to have lost you.”

He turned to look at him. Scars marred his face but no tattoos. His golden eyes closed as he enjoyed the bed.

“Comfortable isn’t it?”

“One at Corvo Bianco’s better.”

“Well then perhaps I’ll have to visit you next time I’m in Toussaint. Test it out.”

“You should. Come visit.”

“I. Wouldn’t be stepping on any toes?”

He shrugged a shoulder. “Ciri knows how to handle you.”

He rolled onto his side. Taking in the face of his best friend. Wishing he was less of a coward.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” His eyes opened. Found his. “Got a few more adventures in you Dandelion?”

“One or two at very least.” He confirmed. “And there’s always a place for you here.”

“I could never live in a city.”

“I know.” He’d suffered many a complaint from Geralt about cities. But he wanted to at least be a waypoint for him. A place to stop and rest.

“Could you live in the country?”

He thought of a dream he’d had once. “I could grow roses.”

“Not sure the soil’s right for that.”

“Ah what’s it matter to me? Buttercups, Delphinium, Lovages, or Roses. I can hardly tell them apart anyway. So long as they’re pretty that’s what matters.”

“Not Dandelions?” He smirked.

He returned a testy gaze. “Dandelions don’t needed to be tended. They grow and survive just fine on their own no matter how unforgiven the place they land.”

“Good. I’m not a very good gardener.”

His smile faded slightly. “Well it’s not your job.”

“It could be.” His eyes round and rimmed with gold in the flickering candlelight.

His eyebrows pinched together. Examining Geralt’s face for the meaning. Not letting his treacherous heart hope.

Still it did. “It’s awful work. Gardening.”

Geralt rolled onto his side, his far arm reaching out. His fingers catching his jaw in its grasp.

“Not to me.”

A half laugh escaped him as he glanced away. “Well compared to drowners and ekimorons I suppose that’s understandable.”

“Ekimmara.” He corrected. “You can’t blast me with magic Dandelion.”

“Very astute observation Geralt- I know most of your bedmates can but it seems like an odd thing to bring up-“ He rambled over Geralt not looking at the face he’d pretended to see on Alonso for so long.

“So if you want to kiss me,” He stopped talking. “You’ll have to do it yourself.”

His throat worked and he did not look at Geralt. “Seems awfully risky for another notch on the bedpost Geralt.”

“Don’t have to if you don’t want.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Just offering.”

“Ah I want but you see,” He swallowed. Forced himself to look at him. “I’m a terrible coward.”

“That’s not been my experience.” He was smiling. Fondly. “Want me to make it easier?” He leaned forward but didn’t touch.

His heart beat rapidly as he covered the last distance. Kissed him.

They pulled back. A smiled crooked his lips. “Been a long time since I kissed someone with,” Geralt motioned to his face. “Facial hair.”

“I could say the same to you. The beard is a nice look but I’m not sure how much I’ll like it if we do that again.”

“If?”

He huffed. “Fine. When.”

“We’ll figure it out.” He promised rolling onto his back. “You could always shave it off.”

“I like how it looks!”

“Me or you?”

“Both.” He admitted.

Geralt smiled sinking into the bed.

“Alright old man. Let’s get in this bed properly.”

He groaned his protests and resisted movement for a bit as he shoved him around.

They settled under the blankets.

“You headed somewhere Dandelion?” He asked, half asleep in the pillow.

“Nowhere.” He assured. “That is to say. I could go where you’re going.”

“I’d like that.”

“Good.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you had fun! Or got injured in just the right way. Let me know!


End file.
